


so go on and let the rain pour

by s-o-l-d-a-t (starsandsnipesforever)



Series: just know mine is a hand to hold [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, First Meetings, Gentle Graves, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 01:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsnipesforever/pseuds/s-o-l-d-a-t
Summary: Credence carefully lifted his gaze, slightly unsteady from the persisting tremble, slowly taking in the full form of the man standing in front of him. Other passerby parted around him easily, as though the man projected a force that automatically warded them away. Credence could hardly blame them. The broad man emanated confidence, so much so that Credence impulsively cowered, but the higher his gaze lifted, the more curiosity slipped in place of fear. The man held an umbrella, his arm slightly extended to protect both of them from the icy sheets pouring from the sky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little pre-slash, first encounter ficlet of Credence and Original Graves before the events of FBAWTFT I wrote based off of [milo36‘s artwork of Graves holding an umbrella over Credence](http://milo36.tumblr.com/post/156127021034/%EC%B2%98%EC%9D%8C%EC%9C%BC%EB%A1%9C-%EC%9A%B0%EC%82%B0-%EC%94%8C%EC%9B%8C%EC%A4%80-%EC%82%AC%EB%9E%8C). It’s so lovely (as is all their art), and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I had to write something. :>
> 
> 4/25/17 UPDATE: This work is now a part of a series: [just know mine is a hand to hold](http://archiveofourown.org/series/712845). I plan for it to be a series of one-shots that all happen in the same universe as part of a larger story but can be individually read as standalones. :)

The rain fell in sheets of thin needles, sharp and freezing to the touch, and Credence’s threadbare clothing did nothing to protect him from the elements. The cold seeped its way through the thin layers as easily as if it were guided, extracting the warmth from his body with no resistance. Icy droplets fell from the tip of his nose, his teeth chattered, and the small shivers that ran down his body felt more violent against his oversensitive nerves than they actually were.

Credence hugged the pamphlets to his chest, his hunched shoulders the only barrier protecting them from the weather, more concerned about keeping them dry than himself. Not even the rain was excuse enough to shirk his responsibilities. It was expected of him to hand out every last one of them. If they got wet, the ink would smudge, and they would be ruined. Ma would know. She always knew.

The bitter bite crept all the way to his extremities, toes like unmoveable cubes of ice in his shoes, fingers frozen stiff. The cold numbed away the feeling, leaving only room for pain, pulsing sharply through his limbs.

Credence walked through the crowd invisibly on clear nights. Tonight, he could have been a brick in the wall or a stone in the ground, smeared with a stain. Most eyes would pass over never noticing, and those that did crinkled their nose in disgust.

A hand weakly reached forward to offer a pamphlet to eyes that refused to acknowledge it. Footsteps clicking against the pavement abruptly picked up when he turned their direction. He could not see the glares with his head ducked, though he could certainly feel them. Every once in awhile, a broad shoulder sent him stumbling back, and regaining his balance took a more concentrated effort with his limbs so stiff, arms immediately clutching flyers to his chest, prioritizing their neatness. No apologies ever followed, except the weak ones Credence murmured as though he was to blame for the collision.

The thick dark clouds overhead obscured his sense of time. Although he was not to return until all the flyers were distributed, he was still expected to accomplish the task and return home by a reasonable hour. By all means, the promise of shelter and warmth of dinner should have motivated him to hand them out more eagerly, yet the harsh rain seemingly sapped him of his mobility and energy. His reach was too short, and his voice was too weak–both of which were pretty feeble to begin with.

A car honked, startling Credence to turn the direction of the sound right as one of the wheels cut through a puddle and sent a wave of dirty water fanning into the air. Credence lifted an arm to try to shield himself, too little too late, a cold blanket smacking right into his face. His grip on the pamphlets slackened, unrealized until the next gust of wind tore them right from his fingertips.

Panic seizes at his chest, eyes widening as the papers cartwheeled through the air and scattered all over the ground. Credence stumbled after them, knees smacking into the pavement as his hands scrambled to snatch them back up. Frozen digits scraped painfully against the equally ice cold sidewalk, unable to quite get a proper grip. The more desperately he clawed at them, the more they slipped from his grasp.

He managed to snag one, using his other hand to try to wipe away the accumulated raindrops before crawling after more. Feet stumbled around him, a few knees clipping his shoulders, and several curses spat down at him. Credence winced and curled in on himself as though he could camouflage into the ground yet still collect the flyers–a redundant effort, he quickly realized, as he watched the ink bleed into illegible splotches.

A pamphlet drifted nearby, and Credence reached for it. His fingertips and the paper were a hair away when the heavy heel of an oxford smashed his pinky right into the solid ground. Credence yelped, jerking his hand to his chest as the pain throbbed all the way up to his elbow. Teeth gritting together, his whole body tensed and twisted in on itself. His eyes screwed shut, yet warm tears pushed their way past the tightly closed lids while the populace continued shuffling around him and scoffing at what a nuisance he was.

Credence’s heartbeat thrummed against his ears, dulling out the splatters of rain, the unfriendly murmurs, and the nearby traffic. Seldom could Credence find genuine solitude, even at home, which was the only time Credence allowed himself to cry. It mattered little right then, however, with his head curled in and the tears blending in with the rain that had already saturated his cheeks. His knees tucked tightly under him, and his shoulders shrunk in, as though if he made himself small enough, he might be able to disappear from existence entirely.

And then the cold rain stinging the back of his neck suddenly stopped, and for a moment, Credence thought he might have gotten his wish. His eyes slowly peeked open. A pair of feet stood right in front of him, and Credence impulsively flinched away as though expecting to be kicked–it would not be the first time.

However, no kicks followed, and Credence carefully lifted his gaze, slightly unsteady from the persisting tremble, slowly taking in the full form of the man standing in front of him. Other passerby parted around him easily, as though the man projected a force that automatically warded them away. Credence could hardly blame them. The broad man emanated confidence, so much so that Credence impulsively cowered, but the higher his gaze lifted, the more curiosity slipped in place of fear. The man held an umbrella, his arm slightly extended to protect both of them from the icy sheets pouring from the sky.

Before Credence could contemplate that too much, the man lowered to one knee in front of him. Credence watched his face, taking in his strong features. Intimidation kept Credence tense, yet something about the man’s eyes dared him to relax a little. He had grown so accustomed to the eyes that typically met him. Dull stares that saw through him like he were glass or cruel ones that reminded him of his inferiority as well as the inherent burden he placed upon those around him by simply existing. Expressions so common that he never questioned them until presented with something different. The man held himself with a sturdy presence yet regarded Credence with soft eyes. Eyes that seemed so out of place on a stranger’s face that Credence could only look back at him with uncertainty in his own.

“Are these yours?” the man asked, reaching down to help collect the pamphlets. “That’s some bad luck.”

Credence’s lips curled in. It wasn’t bad luck. It just simply was–another element of the excessive negatives in his life that were so commonplace that he accepted them without question. He had only himself to blame. If only he had been more diligent about handing them out in the first place.

Rather than voice that though, his eyes lowered to watch the man effortlessly scoop all the pamphlets up into one hand. If Credence did not know better, he would say his palm was a magnet for them, like the papers themselves swept into the air and into his grasp of their own accord.

He extended the stack to Credence, who tentatively reached forward with his good hand to accept them.

“You really ought to be wearing a coat in this weather you know,” the man said, and once again, several thoughts ran through Credence’s head that would explain why he was not, though they all went on unvoiced.

“You’re hurt,” the man continued, and Credence followed his gaze to realize he was looking at the hand still clutched to his chest, his pinky swollen and throbbing.

The man reached for it, and Credence impulsively stiffened but ultimately made no move to resist, lips pursing in surprise when the hand taking his own was so gentle. The texture that met his skin was rough with years of accumulated hard work yet were so warm that Credence could not say that he minded. The man completely covered Credence’s hand with his own, and Credence softly exhaled, stiff muscles slowly unwinding as the warmth spread through his veins, reawakening the more pleasant receptors in his fingertips that the cold had numbed.

Credence breathed shallowly. He desperately wanted to return the hold to the man’s hand, but he didn’t dare.

“Come on,” the man said quietly, rising slowly to his feet and carefully taking Credence’s weight into his grasp to help him up after.

The warmth spread through the rest of Credence’s body, as though it radiated from the man and kept everything under the span of the umbrella comfortably heated.

Credence relaxed fully for the first time since he could remember. He had to concentrate on keeping his feet rooted against the ground, worried his knees might give out on him. The chatter in his jaw slowly faded away, and the shiver in his bones followed soon after.

Gratitude sat at the forefront of Credence’s mind, but his lips tucked between his teeth rather than issue any words. He should thank him. The man probably dirtied his nice suit helping him collect the pamphlets. He took his own time to help him Credence when it was his own responsibility to begin with. He burdened himself for Credence. Credence’s lips parted, but fear shackled his tongue, too afraid that if he said something that he might ruin it, ruin this. The man still held his hand, and Credence could not fathom why anyone would, much less a man of his caliber. He should have let go by now, should have returned to his business, let Credence try to hand out the rest of the pamphlets, even in their poor state. But here he stood with him, this stranger, warm and beautiful and perfect.

All Credence can do was look at him through his eyelashes–unable to quite bring himself to lift his head all the way–and feel the heat pool through his cheeks.

At any moment, he half expected the man to come to his senses, realize what an annoyance Credence was, and brush him aside just like everyone else. Instead, the man smiled.

He shifted the umbrella to prop it against his shoulder so that it still kept them covered but freed up his other hand. The one covering Credence’s moved to hold his palm from underneath while the fingertips of the other glided over his throbbing pinky–which had not seemed to bother him since the man took his hand, Credence realized. The pads of the man’s fingers ghosted over the tender skin and inexplicable relief followed in their wake.

Credence’s breath trembled, his heartbeat picking up again, but this had nothing to do with the temperature or fear. To the contrary, exhilaration spread through his veins in a way that made him feel pleasantly light.

The man’s mouth opened, and Credence braced himself for a scathing remark. Instead the man spoke with a warmth that sunk right into Credence’s chest and took hold. “What’s your name, my boy?”

He hoped it never let go.

Credence’s teeth scraped over his lower lip, his heart rattling in his ribcage. Swallowing thickly, he lifted his head a fraction, fingers gently curling to touch the hand that was touching him. “Credence Barebone,” he answered with a rasp.

The man’s smile broadened. “Credence,” he said with a softness that Credence had never heard his name spoken with before. “My name is Percival Graves, and I have something important that I need to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout at me on tumblr! Main: [@s-o-l-d-a-t](http://s-o-l-d-a-t.tumblr.com) Gravebone Side: [@veelacredence](http://veelacredence.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments give me vitality.


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